


Mad About You

by I_cant_find_a_name



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Abduction Arc (X-Files), Angst, Episode: s08e15 DeadAlive, Episode: s08e16 Three Words, Episode: s08e17 Empedocles, F/M, Friendship/Love, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_cant_find_a_name/pseuds/I_cant_find_a_name
Summary: A deeper look at Mulder and Scully's relationship and the difficulties and distance between them from his return in DeadAlive to the end of Empedocles.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Due to focus of this yarn, there are bits just directly lifted from the episodes... I won't judge you if you feel the need to watch the real thing at those points; I know I've been going over and over them trying to ensure I honour them. I was originally going to take it through to the final season 8 scene but I kinda found it naturally ending and it was already soooo long. The rest can wait for another day.

She lay in bed, unable to sleep. It wasn’t because her unborn child was punching her in the ribcage – although that didn’t help – but because she was terrified that the man who she had longed to have back at her side was no longer a man who seemed able to love and trust her. She loved him so desperately and losing him, having to bury him, had been so inexplicably painful she hardly knew how to function. Had she not had this child growing inside her, she did not know how she would have kept going. Her soul had ached for him, feeling lost without him, somehow unable to find herself or her purpose anymore.

She had tried to hold him within her, tried to continue his work and take his part as she was forced to work with a new partner. The pain of having him “replaced” at work had enraged her; how dare anyone presume to be able to replace him; her partner, her friend, her lover. No one could be the man he was so she could only try to ensure his spirit lived on through her. And perhaps in her through this miracle child, as she winced as he gave her a more than enthusiastic kick.

Agent Doggett wasn’t a bad man; he was a sceptic, but then so was she once. She had initially refused to trust him but over the months he had shown himself to be loyal to her. She didn’t know how Mulder had put up with her in those first few months: was she as irritating as Doggett when assigned to debunk his work? She smiled as she thought about those early days of their relationship. There was something more there, even back then. On paper they should have loathed one another but there was a spark between them; nothing overtly sexual, but a curiosity about one another. She valued him sharing his experiences which had led him to the X-files; he was open, honest, intriguing and he had challenged her, as she did him.

Somewhere along the way she’d fallen in love with him. She remembered all the little things that he did that had gradually filled her heart; the hand on the small of her back, the embraces, the lingering kisses on her forehead, the way he would protect her, fight for her, go to the end of the world for her. And she would for him. She remembered all the near kisses as they both started to acknowledge that this was not a normal relationship, but something so much greater, so much more sacred. She remembered the first kiss, in the first minute of a new millennium, after which everything changed. She remembered the first time they made love, how he touched her, how she would watch him sleeping, how she never felt more at peace than when she lay in his arms, how she felt a sense of wholeness, and how losing him had shattered her.

When he first woke in the hospital, and she was by his side, he had teased her with pretending not to know who she was. But then his eyes sparkled, softened and she could feel the love between them. He was back, her Mulder. She had cried and leaned her head on his chest; he was weak but nuzzled her hair like he had so many times before and she felt like she’d found home once more. He had seen her pain and relief and understood she had been through hell and back... Eventually she had told him how long it had been, how he had been dead, buried, lost completely and he could see the agony writ on her face. His eyes had glistened to see the pain she had been through, and the love she still held for him, and how their gazes of affection still mirrored one another’s.

And then she stood up. His eyes fell upon her swollen belly and the look that passed over his face made her stomach turn. She felt like suddenly there was a greater fear than having lost him completely, but that having him return and not love her anymore would be a living hell. She could see his questions, his confusion, and was that jealousy? She suddenly wanted to hide the bump, make it disappear, wind the pregnancy back to the beginning, and have him alongside her when she found out, so that it was a shared joy for them both, not like this. Not have him suspect that she might have moved on from him, have a new life. She had no more answers about how this child came to be than he did, but hoped that he would consider that he was the father as being one of the most likely explanations. There was silence though. The nurse had come in and she felt like she was in the way and so she had left. She had run through all the things she could have – should have – said to him in that moment but she had been thrown by his reaction and her own fear.

His recovery was as big a miracle as his resurrection, and it wasn’t long before she found herself walking into his apartment with him. After his mom died, he had updated his will leaving everything to her. Being the sole heir to his parents meant that he had bought his place outright, so she had been able to hold on to it, keep it safe for him, ever hoping for the miracle that came, but really just not ready to let go of him yet. On more than one night, she had found herself climbing into his bed rather than going home to hers, surrounding herself with the comfort of his smell. But walking into his living room with him that day felt painfully cold, alien to what she had remembered. He was angry with her.

The comfort of those first fleeting minutes of relief and love upon his waking had gone. Now he seemed resentful, frustrated and pushing against her when all she wanted was him to gather her up in his embrace, to kiss her, to share in her joy and happiness to have him home and their baby growing within her. But he didn’t trust her. It cut her to the core; she could feel the blade in her heart twisting.

Rationally she knew that he had been through the most horrific ordeal; his wounds were a testament to his suffering, and she had been distraught as she had catalogued all his injuries as she stood over his dead body. She hoped that he didn’t have any memories of his ordeal, much as she hadn’t, but perhaps he did? Perhaps part of his resentment was that he was going through an agonising hell whilst she was enjoying getting pregnant? And she was angry with him. Why didn’t he just ask about the baby? Ask about how she became pregnant? Damn it, why didn’t he think about those last few days together before his abduction and figure out that the dizziness and fainting was because she was already pregnant? He had seen her pain and relief written on her face when he awoke, why couldn’t he see it now and be kinder?

She’d tried to explain how hard it was for her as she stood in his apartment, but he had pushed back.

“I’m sorry,” he had said. “I don’t mean to be cold or ungrateful. I just have no idea where I fit in.”

It didn’t help, the next day, when she broke to him that she had a new partner. She felt like she had betrayed him. She hadn’t wanted Doggett. She wanted him, Mulder; surely he knew that? She wanted to tell him everything she’d been through, she wanted his support but he couldn’t give that; he was too damaged. Perhaps he wanted to tell her what he’d suffered, have her hold him, but felt supplanted by the child growing inside her? The child she prayed was his because, if he wasn’t Mulder's, then who or what might he be? She wanted to tell him her fears for the child, the horrific stories she’d been told, the conspiracies, the suggestion that the child may be something other than human, the struggle to find a doctor she could trust.

She felt the tears tumble down her cheeks, their salty taste on her lips. She thought she could do this without him, but to have him back and still be without him? She broke down completely. She looked over at the clock on her bedside table: 2:20am. She remembered the times he’d called her in the middle of the night, how she loved it when she should have been annoyed. She hauled herself out of bed and padded to her bathroom to wash her face of tears, before heading to the kitchen to make herself an herbal tea. She sat in the darkness of her living room, clinging to the warmth of her cup, the only warmth she could hold on to.

He burst into consciousness, sitting bolt upright. He was sweating profusely, shaking with fear. He reached for his chest to check for blood, that the saw was gone, to feel his skin knitted together. It didn’t seem to matter if it was night or day, awake or asleep; these memories terrorised him. He tried to calm himself down, focusing on his breathing, on the fact that he was safe, at home in his apartment, his bed, but he couldn’t distract himself well enough so decided to get up. He hadn’t slept for more than 3 hours together since he’d woken up in the hospital.

He washed his face at the bathroom sink, hoping the fresh water would soothe him, and then paused there, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His wounds were healing well, but he could still see them as though they were fresh. He could feel the instruments drilling into him, the pain, the fear, the desperation. He remembered shouting out her name, willing her to come and save him, but she hadn’t. He had died. And then there was nothingness.

But then there was her. Her hand on his, the familiar soft smell of her which could send him crazy, and as his eyes opened, her beautiful face so filled with pain and sadness and relief and joy. He felt so weak, otherwise he would have reached for her and kissed away her tears. Instead he leaned his head against hers as she sobbed into his chest. His Scully. She was there and she loved him and everything would be fine now. She had told him a little of what had happened to him as she understood it, and then someone had come into the room and she had stood up and there it was. She was pregnant. His chest felt like it had been ripped open again.

He felt hollow inside. He knew how much she had wanted a child, how he had supported her through saving her ova, agreeing to be the sperm donor – agreeing to have a child with her, even though they hadn’t been together at that point. He remembered how shocked he had been when she had finally summed up the courage to ask him, how confused it had made him about their relationship, and yet how saying 'yes' was a no-brainer, even though he said he’d take some time to think it over. He had been worried about what the impact upon their relationship would be were they to have a child together at that point, but he couldn’t deny her when he loved her so much, and when he felt partly to blame for her infertility. Now here she was, pregnant, without him.

Her reaction to his recovery was the reaction of someone who loved him deeply. He knew her face having spent hours trying to memorise its every line, every expression. Her joy at his return and the trauma she had been through was never in doubt but, in the 6 months he had been gone, clearly her life had changed so much and now she was on a journey he wasn’t a part of. He felt betrayed by her. He could see her torn apart by his reaction to her pregnancy, but he was angry with her. It was irrational, he knew, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had been through a living hell and there was no one to blame for that, so she got it.

He knew she needed him. He knew she wanted him to hold her, to enfold her in his arms, and there was a part of him who desperately wanted to cling to her, as if she could hold his fragmented soul together until it mended again. There was a part of him which was comforted that first night he climbed into his own bed and could smell her on his pillow, knowing that she must have sought solace there on the nights he was gone. But she wasn’t the woman he knew. She was a different woman; she would feel different, wrong somehow, with her unborn child cleaving them apart.

He knew he was being a dick. He knew he was hurting her, not trusting her. He was pissed at her for trying to toe the line, trying to protect him, or protect FBI protocol. She didn’t trust him, so why should he trust her? The way she had got the Lone Gunmen to take her side had made him feel a genuine dislike of her, that she’d given up on their shared journey, their crusade. He wanted to defy her just to get at her, to hurt her.

He didn’t know what had happened to make her pregnant. He knew that they’d made love more times than he could count in the months before his abduction; he knew the feel of her on his skin, what it was to be inside her, feeling her coming around him as he filled her with his seed. Was it possible that she had somehow conceived her child with him? Or had she discovered more of her ova and then used another man’s sperm to impregnate herself? She would have had to have hidden that from him though in the months before he was ripped from her and, if she had felt able to ask him to be the sperm donor when they weren’t together, surely she would have been able to ask him once they were a couple?

He felt exhausted; exhausted from lack of sleep, from the fear of the PTSD flashbacks, from being angry and hurt regarding Scully, from feeling threatened by Doggett. He was afraid to sleep though, afraid of the nightmares, so he wandered into the living room and crashed on his couch, reaching for the remote to find some meaningless crap on TV which would shield him from his own thoughts. As he flicked through the news channels he saw it was 2:20am; he’d not even managed 2 hours' sleep tonight. He looked over at his phone and thought about all the times he’d called Scully in the night, how she always answered and how her voice had always brought him so much happiness and love.

It wasn’t her fault. He knew that he needed to be a better person, a friend at least, for her. He needed to let her speak and he needed to listen. He knew she would do the same for him. Ultimately, he needed her because he couldn’t not love her.

She couldn’t stop her mind from going over and over everything. She tried to rewrite the last few days, to identify how she had annoyed and upset him so that she could amend her behaviour to be a better friend. Her rationale had kicked in and she was no longer crying but analysing, focused on righting the situation. The baby had calmed down and she knew that she should get some sleep before he started moving about again but she couldn’t sleep. Suddenly the silence of her home was broken, causing her to jump: it was her phone ringing. Her heart leapt: it must be him calling and therefore he must be awake thinking about her but, as her hand hovered over the phone, she found herself afraid of his anger and panicked that she might just be about to be tortured by him once more. She tried to swallow that fear down and answered.

“Hello,” she ventured.

“Hey.” His voice wasn’t as harsh as it had been, much to her relief. “Were you asleep?”

She realised that he’d clocked her hesitation in picking up. “No, I was awake,” she tried to think of something to say to excuse the delay in answering the call, but failed as she panicked over what to say so as not to offend him.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asked, his tone straining to care. “Does the baby keep you awake?”

That would be the easy thing to say, maintaining the wall between them, but she knew he was trying to step outside the pain and anger he had been showing and her giving him a half-truth would not help to restore their trust.

“No, baby has gone back to sleep now.”

“Do babies sleep in the womb?” He was genuinely intrigued; he hadn’t thought about that before, and she warmed to hear it.

“Yes, they have busy times where they kick the crap out of your insides and quiet times. Usually me walking around seems to send him to sleep; I guess it’s the rocking sensation.”

“Him? Is it a boy?” he picked up.

“It’s a figure of speech,” she tried to back pedal.

“Yeah, but is it a boy?”

She flushed at his question; should she tell him what she told her friends and family, that she was keeping it secret? Or should she share it with him, as the father of the child? “Do you really want to know?”

He paused at that. “I don’t know actually; there are few surprises in life, maybe this should be one?”

“I don’t know, Mulder, working with you on the X-files seems to surprise me on every case!” she found herself smiling at how they seemed to be rekindling their repartee, and he could hear her gentle, loving bemusement, helping him to relax.

“Surprise me. I don’t want to know,” he wanted to maintain the light-hearted conversation, he found himself surprised how much happier he felt than when he was angrily lashing out at her. “So, how did you find out?”

She was relieved that he seemed to be taking an interest, wanting to know more about this miracle child. “It was as you were being abducted. You remember I was fainting and feeling dizzy?”

“So that was baby Scully? You were pregnant before I was taken?” He sounded relieved and she swore she could hear his brain putting it all together, softening him, rebuilding his trust.

“Yes, I was, and not having you beside me to share that with you just magnified the pain of losing you.”

“I’m sorry,” he sounded genuinely apologetic, as another bit of the wall between them fell down.

“For what?”

“For doubting you, for being an asshole this past week or so. It just all came as a surprise to come back to find you like that.”

“You mean like a beached whale?” she giggled, and he huffed a little laugh in response.

“Ha, no, you look radiantly maternal,” he softly smiled.

“Well I feel like a beached whale, but thank you.”

He paused before continuing, keen not to undermine the affection of the conversation so far. “I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you. I just felt like I’d come back from hell and you’d moved on without me.”

“I was never without you, Mulder,” her voice was quiet, smaller somehow. “I held you within my every thought, missed you with every breath. I tried to honour you, represent you, but it was so hard.”

“None of this has been easy, has it?” he sounded weakened.

“No,” she acknowledged and then bravely ventured onwards. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Yes. I remember it all.”

The tears tumbled down her face, and he could tell; he realised that he did know her more than anyone else. He felt her love for him and his for her. 

“I can’t forget it; I wish I could, but it’s going to take time for me to heal and to get used to this new reality,” he said slowly, wary of not wanting to hurt her or to get her hopes up for something he wasn’t sure he could still give her.

“I know,” her voice was quiet, small. “I’m trying to understand, be patient, and I will always be here for you."

They both relaxed slightly, both smiled that they had started along the journey towards rebuilding their relationship.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she responded.

“Well then I guess we need to try to sleep then,” he wrapped up the conversation even though both of them had so much more to say still. Baby steps. That will come.

“Yes. Goodnight Mulder.” 

A shoot of electricity shot through him; he loved how she said that to him; he remembered all the times she’d said it before and the desire he had felt for her, the love. “Goodnight Scully,” he smiled.

She put down the phone. She felt like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders; there was still a long way to go, but at least they’d started the journey. A wave of tiredness hit her. She got up and headed back to her bed, to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Work happened. They all could still feel the uneasiness and tension in the new dynamic. Mulder struggled to hide his dislike of Doggett, Doggett wanted to protect Scully from Mulder's anger, Scully tried to make her two male partners accept one another, and see one another’s strengths. She felt like she was the territory two alpha dogs were fighting over, and got fed up with Mulder's childish behaviour, but was also happy that she was something he wanted to fight for. They were all exhausted by the end of the day and she looked forward to a nice hot bath to relax in, and take the weight off her swelling ankles.

As she eased into the hot water, she felt herself relax and allowed herself to forget the difficulties of the day. She stroked her swollen belly with love for the child growing within her, smiling at the joy she felt at being a mother. She had been reassured by the scans she’d had with her new doctor, although she wasn’t completely without fear that this child might turn out to be something terrible, and her simply a human incubator. But Mulder had returned and she felt hope that all would be ok. His return in her life may have been difficult, but it made her realise that she saw him as the father of this baby, and that meant he had to be human, surely?

She heard a knocking on her door. She sighed, annoyed that her peace was being disturbed, and decided that whoever it was could be ignored because they hadn’t had the courtesy to check with her about coming over. She heard the door click open and someone coming in.

“Mom?” she called out. “Is that you? I’m in the bathroom.”

She’d left the bathroom door open; she’d had too many people attacking her in her own home and so liked to be able to hear any movement and sounds that could be indicative of danger. She sighed and decided that she had to get out of the bath and pulled herself up, an action in itself which felt tiring due to her increased size and the shift in her centre of gravity. She was just reaching for the towel when Mulder appeared. Her eyes widened, shocked, and she speedily covered herself, but he had seen her already.

“Woah,” he said turning away to avert his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think... Sorry” he trailed off.

She just looked at him sheepishly. Of course he had seen her naked before, but not like this and she blushed and looked down to avoid his gaze as he turned back towards her. He had a strange look in his eyes that made her raise a questioning eyebrow, a half-smile breaking across her face.

“I told you so,” she playfully countered. “A beached whale.”

Her response had relaxed him. “The most beautiful beached whale I’ve ever seen.”

She rolled her eyes at him and he melted.

She was beautiful. He’d never thought about pregnant women being a source of lust before, but this was Scully; he knew how much she had wanted to be pregnant, and that seemed to make her all the more exquisite. He felt awkward for walking in on her, for seeing her, but he was fascinated by her new shape, her neat bump... And, well, yes, her enlarged breasts, although he berated himself for his lust, his desire to touch them, to touch her, to explore her new body. He realised he was staring at her body as he felt her bemused eyes, her raised eyebrows and her mischievous smile and he raised his eyes to her face, and remembered how much he loved her.

“I disturbed your bath,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “I didn’t think. And I probably shouldn’t have let myself in... We’re not, well...” he stammered to a halt.

“We’re not together?”

He noted a vulnerability in her response, a sadness.

“It’s not that I don’t... Well, you know,” he stammered, seeing the sadness in her eyes. “That’s not to say that we don’t... Won’t...”

“It’s alright Mulder,” she gave him permission to relax. “I know it must be very strange to come back to this,” she gestured to her bump.

“I guess I don’t understand it all, or where I fit in.”

She smiled kindly and he felt grateful for her patience.

“I’m disturbing your bath time,” he suddenly focused, returning to his original apology. “I guess I got used to just being able to let myself in, but things are different now.”

“Are they?” It was out of her mouth before she could think and he saw the panic on her face as she blushed.

He didn’t know what to say, or do. He wanted to get out of her way, her apartment as soon as possible, but his feet seemed planted to the floor, unwilling to budge.

“I don’t know what to think, or do, or say,” he shuffled awkwardly, his eyes again resting on her bump.

“Well time was when you’d have joined me in the bathtub,” she teased, “but I’m afraid there’s no space for you with this little one anymore.”

“Does that mean that there’s no space for me at all?” he hesitated, testing the waters.

“Mulder,” she said his name in a way that he found so arousing. “There will always be space for you. Just not in the bath right now.”

They giggled, the mood shifted and he relaxed.

“I had better let you get dressed... Or back in the bath, whichever; I can go if you like.”

“No Mulder,” she reassured him. “You can stay. You can always stay.”

He looked down at his feet, wary of meeting her gaze. This was going to take time, for them both to rebuild their relationship. He took a breath in and then left the room to allow her to dress.

She had laid it out to him. She had told him, in their own, indirect way, that she still loved him, that he still had a place by her side, if he wanted it. She was surprised how unphased she was by him inadvertently seeing her naked body; in some ways she hoped it would make it seem more real for him, that the bump wasn’t something she took off at the end of the day, that it was her, who she was now. She hoped that it would help him accept it more, and she felt it had. She had been intrigued by how his eyes drank in her body; was that attraction he was feeling? Surely not, she felt enormous, but his eyes had stayed fixed on her, taking her in. She had kept the mood light, deliberately tried to put him at ease. And, besides, she wanted him to explore her new body, she wanted to feel his touch again, she wanted to make love to him, even though she felt enormous, and a little ashamed of her sexual desire.

She finished pulling on her PJs and waddled into the living room. Mulder was standing in the kitchen sifting through takeaway menus. A wave of happiness and familiarity crashed against her: he wanted to stay, he wanted to spend the evening with her, even if it was a bit difficult for them both.

“Thai? Chinese? Pizza?” he cheerfully asked, not looking up.

“Chinese, I think, I have had too much pizza lately,” she confessed.

“Chinese it is... Do you want your usual?”

She beamed. He remembered her order. After all this time, she allowed herself to hope that he was still hers. “Yes please.”

He poured her a glass of milk and moaned at the lack of beer in her kitchen.

“I can’t drink alcohol Mulder!” she had laughed, and he had rolled his eyes at her in mock dissatisfaction.

She saw his face soften as his eyes once again fell to her bump. She looked at him with a combination of intrigue and happiness, grateful that he was trying to meet her halfway.

“Do you have a scan?” His question took her by surprise.

She went over to her desk and pulled out the grainy black and white image and took it to him, and stood beside him pointing out the little arms and legs and head. She could feel his warmth against her side and her heart nigh-on skipped a beat to be so close to him. She watched his face as he stared at the image; it was so soft, his eyes seemed to be filled with awe and love which made her hope like never before that he would stand beside her, be the father of this tiny new life.

“Wow, Scully, that’s a whole new human growing inside you,” he seemed to have read her mind and she smiled. He matched her smile, her warmth and nodded with a sense of acceptance. Then her mind sounded its warning bell and her smile dropped and anxiety took over.

His brow furrowed, “What is it Scully? Are you ok?”

And there, standing in her kitchen, looking at the image of her unborn child she broke down and told him all her concerns, about how Duffy Haskell had turned up at their office one morning and his tale of his wife and child, about Zeus Genetics, Dr Parenti, Mrs Hendershot, her investigations and her fears for her child. He listened attentively. She knew that he would be sharing her concerns, all too willing to accept that there were women being implanted with alien babies.

“I don’t know what to think, Mulder,” she finished, her eyes moist with tears. “I have wanted this baby so much, for so long, but what if it’s not really my baby, what if this is just another experiment inflicted upon me. What will I do if they take it from me? I am so scared.”

She wanted him to embrace her, to hold her and for her to feel that sense of warmth and safety, but he didn’t.

“Scully,” he began. “Do you trust your OB?”

“I think so, now,” her voice was small and a tear escaped down her cheek.

He looked intently, reassuringly at her. “And she’s happy with the scans?”

She nodded.

“I think you have to focus on that then. Hope to believe that, however this child came about, your doctor sees nothing abnormal in your scans, and just focus on looking after yourself and your baby.”

She felt reassured but noted how he used “your” instead of “our” and that was a little kick against her. Surely if he was telling her to believe that her child was natural, was human, he must know that the child would be his?

Their eyes met, his acknowledging the pain and fear in hers and trying to reassure her, but there was no embrace. No comforting holding of her hand, or stroking her hair from her face. That was gone and it cut her to the core, because they had always done those things, from the motel on their first assignment when she had thrown herself into his arms in relief, they had always had some physical action to acknowledge their care for one another.

There was a knock on the door and they were almost relieved for the interruption of the delivery guy. He paid and took the food as she grabbed cutlery and drinks to carry to the coffee table in the living room. Mulder joked about how much food she was eating and they fell into their normal light-hearted chats, but without the affection she craved.

He walked into his apartment and suddenly realised how empty it was. He had spent the evening with her and there were moments where it was almost natural, back to how they were before. He had shared her concerns but also laughed with her. Now he looked around his apartment and noticed how sparse it was without her in it. He couldn’t escape that he loved her, even though he wished he could. He hadn’t allowed himself to hug her for fear of giving her too much hope that he wasn’t sure he could live up to, although part of him was screaming to gather her up in his arms, and he could see the pain in her eyes when he didn’t.

He was glad to understand that she had questioned the origins of this pregnancy, worried about the actions of Dr Parenti and others. He shared her anxiety over whether the child was human, or if she was again being used by the conspirators who were tied in with the potential alien colonisation of Earth. He hoped that she was going to be ok... And then he realised that he, therefore, hoped that the baby growing inside her was his. Initially that was a selfless hope for her, that she could finally be the mother she had always hoped to be, but it slowly dawned on him that, if the child was to be ok, that he would be a father. He’d been so suspicious of the pregnancy, felt so detached from it that he hadn’t considered his role, that she wanted him to be the father of her child.

He thought back to when she was having IVF, how he had thought through the fact that, if successful, he would be a father, but their relationship back then was platonic, and he didn’t feel the same sense of responsibility he suddenly felt now. He had just been helping a friend. A friend he loved deeply, admittedly, but there wasn’t the same sense of obligation that being in a real relationship entailed. He didn’t know how to be a father. It had taken them long enough to work out how to be a couple, let alone parents... but that was gone for now too. 

He felt so unsure about everything. He had come back to a world that had seemed to have progressed so much faster than it should have for 6 months. Everything felt different, difficult to settle back into. He missed his old life. He missed it being just him and her against the world, investigating strange cases that defied belief. He missed the easiness of their relationship, the unspoken communication; he felt like he’d returned to a world where everyone spoke a different language to him and he couldn’t keep up. He missed her. He sat on his couch, staring at the wall opposite vacantly. He missed her. He missed her because he was in love with her and he wanted that back. He realised that he had to accept where they were now and that that included a child, a child they could both share, and that she needed him now more than ever. He had to try.

He found himself thinking through all the ramifications of his decision to let Scully in again. How they were potentially having a baby together, how that could work between them. How much time would he get to spend with the child? Should he continue to stay living apart from them? Would she even want him living with them? How could he show her that he was going to stand alongside her, whatever happens? And then he remembered something.

He got up and went to his wardrobe. Standing on a chair, he reached into the depths of the top shelf where he had stored family treasures he had saved from his mother’s home after she died. He was hunting for something; a rag doll that his grandmother had made for his mother, and which she had passed on to Samantha. He remembered his sister telling him that when she grew up and had a baby, she was going to pass it on to them. Samantha wasn’t going to have that child to pass it on to. Scully was. And he loved Scully, and he realised he loved the baby inside her. Of course it should belong to Scully and their child. Their child. He found an empty shoebox at the bottom of the wardrobe and carefully placed the doll in it and planned to get some wrapping paper in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, you could just watch Empedocles...

She heard the door knock and waddled from her bathroom to the door. A second knock, but there was no way she could get there any faster. She looked through the peep hole expecting to see her pizza delivery guy but was surprised and happy to see him.

“Mulder?” she exclaimed as she opened the door. 

Immediately she noticed something different about him, even since last night. He looked warm, open, loving and she felt herself light up.

“What?” came his enigmatic response.

“I was just about to jump in the shower but I was waiting for the pizza man.”

“You got something going on with the pizza man I should know about?” he teased her.

“The pizza man?” she asked a little perplexed.

“Well correct me if I’m wrong but you just said you were waiting for the pizza man to jump in the shower,” he was enjoying baiting her.

“No, what I mean is that the pizza man’s usually late and so...” she realised he was joking around and gave up, smiling to see him more like the old Mulder. She looked at him trying to assess how to respond to him. “You want to come in?”

“Thank you,” he said still mischievously feigning offence that she was in a relationship with the pizza man.

She rolled her eyes, turned and walked away from the door signalling he could enter and not noticing the parcel he had hidden behind him. She dared to hope that she was getting her old Mulder back. “I feel like I’m stuck in an episode of Mad About You.”

“Well, uh, yeah, but small technicality,” he parried. “Mad About You was about a married couple and we just work together.”

She wasn’t going to let that one pass. They were definitely more than two people who just worked together: “Yeah, well, you know what I’m talking about.” She continued into her bathroom as she gave up on the shower she had planned.

“I do, I do,” he continued to tease. “What, what I’m trying to say is that, uh, we have no good reliable information on this man. I mean, what I am saying is the pizza man...”

She returned back to the living room to see his playfulness. He looked at her belly and pointed, “is not above suspicion.”

“Ah, I see,” she sighed, a little exasperated that he was going the long way around asking the most obvious question, but he was there and smiling; she knew he was trying in what was a difficult situation for them both. She stopped in front of him and smiled as he pulled a funny face. She was confused, his eyes kept looking to the couch, and she wondered what he was getting at until she noticed a present all wrapped up, hiding behind a cushion. She couldn’t believe her eyes. He’d brought her a present?

“Is that for me?” she felt like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Yeah” he smiled.

She was struck by how well it was wrapped, a little surprised by it in fact. “Nice package!” He deserved that double entendre given his mischief so far this evening.

“Thank you.”

“What’s the occasion?” she said as she picked it up, excited.

“Oh, uh, I was going through some stuff after my mother died and, um, it’s just an old family keepsake and I wanted you to have it.”

She looked up at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes. “Well, I’m touched,” she smiled.

He loved how excitedly she had been when she spotted the present; he’d missed seeing that spark of happiness in her eyes and, for all their fears, this pregnancy, becoming a mother, gave her such a radiance, a glow, an innate joy which he loved seeing in her. A knock at her door interrupted and he continued to play on her affection for her pizza man. Her eyes twinkled at him as he turned to answer the door. He eyed the delivery guy with mock-suspicion and threw a glance back at her as she told the guy to give the pizza to him and, in so doing, dumped the bill on him. $29.08! For a pizza?! He pulled out his wallet, moaning about the price when suddenly he heard a gasp from behind him.

Scully had sat down on the couch to open her present but was suddenly bent over in pain. His heart leapt into his throat as he raced towards her, his anxiety about her health amplified by the fact she was carrying a child, a child so much prayed for, a child he’d realised he would see as his own. He ordered the pizza man, so recently the source of their jokes, to call 911 and time seemed to stand still as they waited for the paramedics.

He refused to leave her side and travelled with them to the hospital. As they wheeled her into the ER, a nurse asked if he was the husband. He said no and was promptly left behind. He looked after her, wishing he had lied, or just said he was her partner... which wasn’t untrue in the most literal sense, but the moment had passed.

Then he saw Agent Doggett approaching. He immediately felt anger to see him; what was he doing there? Wasn’t it enough that he’d usurped him at work and, what, now he is racing to be there at the hospital? He curtly asked how he knew to be there, and Doggett explained he’d been on his way to drop something off at hers but had been told by the landlord. He was suspicious about Doggett’s feelings for Scully; he seemed a little too caring...

“Are you the husband?” the ER nurse demanded of Doggett, who seemed very aware that this would only exacerbate Mulder's dislike of him so he quickly refused and was relieved when Mulder's cell phone rang pulling him away.

It was another agent, a Monica Reyes, on the phone. He’d not come across her before and when she said she had a potential X-file he felt more than happy to fob her off on Doggett so he would go away from him, away from Scully. Instead Agent Reyes explained that the case concerned Agent Doggett and he relented. He turned back towards the room Scully was being treated in only to see Doggett, now fully briefed by the nurse, telling him not to worry, that they were running tests. He nodded, but felt undermined. He should be the one caring for her, not him; Special Agent Doggett should be botching up a case with his closed mindedness. Instead it was him being called on to the case, called away from her side.

She sighed as she let her head roll back on to her pillow and stared at the ceiling. The pain had eased thanks to the painkillers, but she’d had a bleed and she was naturally concerned about her baby. It had resulted in a further ultrasound though, conducted by doctors who would never have been complicit with any conspiracy implanting alien foetuses in unsuspecting mothers, and the baby was healthy, safe and well, and looking no different to any other baby they’d scanned.

Her thoughts turned to Mulder. She had wanted him to stay with her, but he had told the nurse he wasn’t the husband. She was angry at both of them; anyone sensible would check for a wedding ring before asking any man within 15 feet if they were the husband. But then, why hadn’t he stood up and said he was hers? He was the father? Instead he’d got pissy again over Agent Doggett. She looked down at her pregnant belly and then told herself off; she could have just as easily said that Mulder was the father and that she wanted him present, but she’d been too drugged and all her sentience had been focused on caring for the baby.

He had popped in before he left, held her hand, looking concerned but also not quite as sure of himself as he had before. Before he was abducted, before she was pregnant; it had all been so much easier back then. She was still a bit out of it at that point, they were yet to do the ultrasound and confirm the baby was safe, so she hadn’t been able to tell him what was happening before he kissed her forehead and left.

She’d slept as well as anyone can in a busy ER, grateful for her side room, but still her sleep was fragmented, interrupted by nurses checking her sats and blood pressure, and changing her meds over, as well as the discomfort of wearing a foetal monitor. Her mom had popped in, fussing over her. She was grateful for that; her mom had taken the time and thought to bring a book and a paper for her to read, some flowers to cheer her and some chocolate. Now she was left on her own again, thinking about him. Always him.

It was mid-afternoon and she had been trying to sleep; the nurse had turned off the light for her, but baby was not complying, but instead seemingly scoring a home run if his kicking was anything to go by. She heard the door open but didn’t look up, assuming it was just another member of the medical team but then she heard his voice.

“You awake?” he whispered.

She opened her eyes and turned towards him. He looked so beautiful to her in that moment. He was smiling, his eyes bright and sparkling and filled with love for her. She couldn’t help but smile back at him. He checked how she was and she was able to tell him that she’d had a partial abruption of the placenta. He looked concerned and checked if she was going to be ok and was clearly relieved when she said she would be. And then he reached out and touched her tummy.

She watched him as he felt the baby kicking away. His face was one of awe, fascination and love. It was the first time he’d felt a baby kicking like that and she could see his trepidation and his fears melting away, and all that was left was love. For the baby, for her. Their eyes moved to meet one another and she recognised his expression from their first kiss and she guessed her smile was not far off that moment of realisation, of commitment, of acknowledged love either. Not only was he showing that he still loved her completely, but also that he loved and accepted their child, and he was unfathomably happy for her that somehow they had found their miracle.

She asked him where he’d been, intrigued to see he was in his work shirt and tie. He told her that he was working a case with Reyes and Doggett. She had surprised him when she had said how much she liked Reyes – the two women were so unlike – but she pointed out that they weren’t alike either, but that hadn’t stopped them from falling in love. He talked of how he found Doggett frustrating. She smiled at him and told him to stick with him, that he shouldn’t be dismissed out of hand, that he was a good man, who he just had to be patient with. She knew he was jealous of Doggett, and felt threatened by him, but they had just reaffirmed their love and devotion to one another and she knew he would now listen to her and know that he didn’t need to feel threatened.

It hardly felt like two weeks had passed since he had been driven home from the hospital by her, him returning to his apartment filled with ambivalence and anger about her pregnancy. Now he was the one driving her home to her apartment, but the emotions were so different this time. His anger and shock were gone, and he could only look at her with love and joy in his heart. It had taken him aback, once he had made his mind up to accept her and her unborn child as his, how scared he had been for the baby and for her; how he was terrified they could lose their baby. He had also been utterly relieved that the ultrasound had removed any doubt over the physiology of the child; it was your standard, run-of-the-mill baby and his fears subsided.

As he guided her into her apartment, his hand in that familiar small of her back, he thought about how he had felt their baby kicking. He’d thought it would be something more like the Alien movies, but it was beyond description; incredible and his heart had melted and, then, he had looked up at her face... He had all but forgotten to breathe as his love for her flooded back. How could he have been so angry with her? How could he have doubted her?

After she had gone to the bathroom (the regularity of which amused him greatly, and was an obvious point for future teasing), he had sat her down on the sofa, taken her overnight bag into her bedroom and unpacked as much as he could, still remembering where most things lived. He had ordered in pizza whilst she was in the bathroom and got her a drink.

“Mulder, you never fail to surprise me,” she had smiled as he busied himself.

The pizza had arrived and as he grabbed plates for them, he clocked the present and hid it at the back of the settee as she then told him that she hadn’t got an appetite yet. He said that was ok and sat down next to her and noticed a funny look on her face as she stared at the pizza.

“You miss your regular pizza man, don’t you?”

She looked sheepishly at him. “Yes. It’s okay. He’s coming by later,” she gently teased him.

For a split second he hesitated but when he saw the twinkle in her eyes his heart sang, and he grabbed the present from behind him and placed it upon her lap.

“I bet you forgot about that, didn’t you?” he grinned, but she hadn’t forgotten, she’d been thinking about it and wondering what it could be. He found himself coyly looking down at the floor as she unwrapped it, wondering if she’d like it, or realise its significance.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed in surprise, her heart seemingly melting. “Oh Mulder.”

He smiled, so happy that she loved it, and they joked briefly and she laughed and her eyes softened.

As she studied the doll she mused, “but then that’s the other gift that you gave me, Mulder...”

He stared at her, wondering what she was going to say; was she going to say the baby?

“...Courage... to believe. And I hope that’s a gift I can pass on.”

He felt a twinge of sadness that she had veered away from actually saying he’d given her the gift of motherhood, but he still loved her, and loved that she credited him for a courage he knew was hers alone; she was the bravest woman he knew. He appreciated, though, that whilst he’d been gone, she had not let him be forgotten, and had championed his perspectives and, as such, been able to keep the X-files going. As he gazed at her, he realised that she was leaving it to him to read between the lines, leaving him to decide if she also meant their baby was a gift. So he did.


End file.
